


The Way to the Library

by Lirillith



Category: Cinders
Genre: Books, F/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirillith/pseuds/Lirillith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basile is intrigued by his hostess's younger sister, after making her acquaintance at the ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way to the Library

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Sophia/Basile prompt on [this post](http://a-cinders-tale.tumblr.com/post/28555190357/prompt-party-1).  Set post- Independent Woman ending.

    If he were a normal man, she'd said, she'd invite him to their home.  Get to know him.  It was almost encouragement.

    He'd never learned her name, of course, the whole point of a masquerade, and he'd assumed he'd lost his chance.  But thanks to Perrault, and to the beguiling redhead who'd charmed him so thoroughly and then turned him down, he was looking at her now, as she rose from a deep curtsy.  "And my younger sister, Sophia," the lady of the house, Cynthia -- Cinders, Perrault had called her, with that reluctant smile he rarely showed at court -- said, and Sophia's eyes met his.

    Maybe she couldn't blush on command, as she'd said at the ball, but when he murmured "I remember you," she flushed to the roots of her hair.

    "I might have been a bit less innovative if I'd expected to ever see you again, Your Highness," she said, in an equally low voice, though not softly enough to avoid a sharp look from her older sister, and he had to stifle a chuckle.  Innovative indeed. 

    He remembered the elder sister, too, the young lady who'd admitted she didn't know her own mind; he wasn't sure what to make of the fact the three young women who'd made the strongest impressions on him at the ball all lived under the same roof.  Their formidable mother remained in the background -- Lady Cynthia was the head of the household -- but clearly she was too wise to terrify her guests as she did her daughters.  He made his bow to her, as well, and she greeted him graciously; if she looked a bit exultant, he could hardly blame her for that, considering his own position.  She indicated the direction of the gardens and the ballroom, but the library, it seemed, was on the other side of a near-labyrinth.  "You might ask my youngest, Sophia, to help you find it, if you wish," she suggested.  "She's quite the reader."

    "Indeed," he responded, blandly, but Lady Carmosa was smiling as she turned away. 

    Asking Sophia for anything first required locating her, however, and that took him some time.  Finally, he managed to catch up with her as she was occupied with a glass of punch.  "I wouldn't have called you 'innovative,'" he greeted her, as if their exchange had never been interrupted. 

    "No, I'm sure you're far too polite to insult a guest that way," she replied. 

    She'd already rejected the idea of his suit quite thoroughly, he reminded himself.  Just because she interested him didn't mean he interested her; her comments about getting to know him might simply have been courtesy, after all.  "I'm told you're a reader," he said, regardless.  She looked startled, then pleased, then suspicious. 

    "Really," she said.

    He took a deep breath.  He could speak her language, he was sure of it, even if it felt both ill-mannered and alarmingly bold.  "Perhaps it's a transparent ploy by your mother," he said, "but I'd still be delighted to see the library.  And to have a chance to talk about books."

    She smiled, cautiously, and he let himself relax a fraction.  "I doubt we read any of the same things," she said.  "But I can show you the library."

    Perhaps they didn't.  But that could be remedied, if she'd only tell him what she liked to read; in his experience it was never very difficult to extract that kind of information from a reader, even those who disclaimed their own taste or made self-deprecating remarks about guilty pleasures.  It was one of the few ways he could be sure he'd had an honest conversation at court.

    "Oh, terrible things," she said, when he posed the question.  "Fairy tales and romances and the worst kind of childish, implausible nonsense.  None of which you'll find in here, if that's what you're wondering.  The library dates to my late stepfather's day, and most of the books have been--"  She pulled up short, her steps actually faltering for a moment.  "Lost," she said.  "Or... damaged."

    Sold, he thought, but the family was doing its utmost not to appear financially straitened.  Small wonder the dowager had made the library sound so remote, the route sound so circuitous, when in fact it was simply at the end of a long corridor.  And an interesting gamble, on her part, encouraging him to spend time with Sophia, but running the risk that Sophia would slip or that he'd notice the bareness of the shelves on his own.  "That's a shame," he said, rather than acknowledge the solecism.  "Your mother is not a reader, I take it?" 

    "Oh, demons, no," she said, pushing open the heavy oak door.  "Wasting time on imaginary stories rots the brain, distracts you from practical matters, and might very well drive you crazy.  And as for non-fiction, she knows everything she needs to know about the world." 

    "So where is your collection, if not here?" Basile asked, as they stepped into the room, then realized how that might sound.  "Not that I'd expect you to show it to me, if it's in your personal quarters, but--" 

    "Right the first time," she said.  "Some I swiped from Cinders, some I bought on the sly.  Or I get them from the lending library at the risk of my family's scorn.  What's in here is all very educational; philosophy, history, politics... Like I said, I only read terrible things."

    He thought of browsing the shelves -- which were, indeed, looking rather bare -- for works he knew and would recommend, if only for an excuse to remain a bit longer with her in a quiet corner of the house.  He suspected, though, that it would backfire; all the books he could think of at the moment were works of political philosophy, and given her comments on the business of ruling, she'd no doubt begin to avoid him as a bore, or worse, as a persistent, nagging suitor trying to make her into someone she wasn't. 

    "Tell me some titles," he urged instead.  "I could use some escapist fiction now and then."  That won him a smile, albeit one she appeared to be trying to suppress.

    "They're really terrible," she demurred.

    "I don't believe in judging others by their literary taste," he said.  "It can cut both ways, after all.  And I mean it.  I could use some spice in my reading, some variety."

    "Hmm," she said, but the smile escaped, lighting up her whole face.  "I suppose I could give you some suggestions."


End file.
